On the Wings of Opposition
by xFillyStarx
Summary: Kenta Kuniko wanted nothing more than to become as great a Trainer as his late father. Unfortunately, on a quest filled with liberators, a one-minded Pokemon Whisperer, a tighening grip of police forces, and a secret that just might change everything, one's own dreams tend to get pushed to the back burner. Semi Novelization of White Version. (Touya/?)
1. Prologue I: Dark Wings of Fate?

**I've been seeing a lot of novelizatons for the 5th generation lately, and couldn't help but notice the one thing they all had in common: people always tell it from the girl's point of view. I thought to myself, "Why can't the boy get any love? D:" (Particularly without the yaoi.) And now that I've FINALLY played these games to my heart's content, I suddenly feel the desire to put in my own two cents into it.**

**So here we go, the first addition to _On the Wings of Oppostion_** As told by the one and only Touya Black ... who isn't called by that in this story.

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**Prologue I: Dark Wings of Fate?**

The first thing I felt was shock. Not surprise shock. Not scared-out-of-my-wits shock (though, I did feel that), but an electrical shock. It was like I'd been hit by a Klink's Thunderbolt attack. A sizzling sensation jolted up my arms, into my chest, under my skin, rattling me on the inside. Every inch of me got zapped. And there was nothing I could do except let go of the stone I'd been holding-and yell. Like that would help.

The weird thing, though, was that none of it hurt. Don't get me wrong, I _felt_ the sting; I just felt no pain. If anything, I dropped the stone out of reflex, but the painless electrocution wasn't nearly as strange as what happened next.

As soon as the stone left my hand, the shock ended. I stood stock-still, my heart hammering, clutching the hand, massaging it automatically, even though I felt no blister marks. When I felt the rest of me, I found my clothes still intact, my skin unscarred and as peach-white as ever. It was as if I'd never been electrocuted in the first place.

"What was-?" I gasped, but I never finished the question when I looked up. What I saw seemed impossible.

The black stone was hovering in midair.

There were no strings. No pedestal. Not even a Gothitelle controlling it with telepathy. The stone just … _floated_ more than fifty feet above my head with not a care in the world.

And it rose. Higher and higher it went until it reached a hundred feet. Then it went for two hundred feet-three hundred feet-and it still had miles of room to spare between it and the high vaulted ceiling.

I watched with wide eyes, completely awestruck, my mouth falling farther open the more the stone ascended.

The stone began to spin. In the exact same instant, a wind kicked up, even though I wasn't standing anywhere near a window. It seemed to come from everywhere, yet nowhere, whipping around inside the great hall. I automatically reached up to keep my hat from flying off, but my brain was nowhere near the thought of losing it. I heard a dull crack from somewhere. Thunder or earthquake? Turned out it was neither, as it seemed to come from the stone itself. Still spinning like a top, it started to vibrate. Another rumble echoed. The winds rose to a tempest, battering my jacket and my hair. I squinted against the blast of it, but didn't shut my eyes all the way. I did _not_ want to miss any action and make myself vulnerable to something I couldn't see. No way.

As I stood there, with one arm half shielding my face, the other tense and bent at the elbow at my side, I then began to notice a dim bluish light emanating from the stone.

A crack had appeared in the stone, on the side facing me. It wasn't a really long fissure, but not unnoticeable. It was as though someone had driven an ax straight into it. Something like dark gas poured out of it, gushing out as swiftly as blood from a wound, only without the splatter. It was either black or a really dark purple. The best way I can describe it all is some sort of aura or energy. It definitely reminded me of mist, yet it flowed like water.

More and more of this "aura" spilled out, filling the vicinity around the cracked stone. Eventually, there became so much of it that it split into four separate courses, like four rivers.

Then, as suddenly as if someone had pressed the reverse switch, the aura evaporated. Just like that. On the spot. The few wisps that remained were sucked back through the crack back into the stone. But it wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. The stone still floated, bobbing slowly up and down. The crack was still there, glaring at me like an ugly sideways scar.

Then the stone began to grow.

Actually grew. Enlarged. Expanded. Increased in size. Pick any verb you want-it all meant the same. Before, the stone had been small enough to fit in my clutched fist. Now it was bigger than a bowling ball. Inch by inch, it grew, working to fill the empty space above the massive platform I stood on. I suddenly had the notion that it might get so big that I'd run out of room to stand. I even had the thought to retreat several steps. Sorry, retreat? More like run the heck out of there. Too bad my legs weren't willing to move, too soldered in place by my own astonishment.

The storm became even more ferocious, slapping me so hard that _that _stung more the previous assault. The rumbling echoes became more and more insistent until it felt like the ground itself was shaking. Suddenly, even under all that, I heard the stone emit another crack. Looking up, squinching against the buffeting gusts, I saw the stone splinter into dozens of thin crevices and clefts all over. With each new crackle of breaking glass, a new crack appeared; the stone began to look as though it would crumble to dust any second. Which it did.

With a deafening BOOM, the stone shattered. I ducked, prepared to get shredded by million tiny pieces of sharp glass. Nothing touched me. What did hit me was a great flash of blinding white light. This time I really did shut my eyes, but not even the darkness of my eyelids could shut out the radiance. An extra burst of wind and energy turned the whole room into a wailing windstorm, but this time it had lightning. Actual lightning. I felt rather than heard it when hairs stood on end, felt it in my own head until I thought my brain would collapse. I shut my eyes even tighter and shielded myself. Heck, that's all I _could_ do. For a total of eight solid terrifying seconds, nothing but electricity and wind surged around me. I couldn't hear anything else. Not the walls groaning in protest. I couldn't even hear my own scream.

And as crazy as it all was, as hard as the gusts blew, as much as the lightning storm raged, it still didn't touch me. It still didn't hurt. Somewhere amid my thudding, terror-stricken heart, I felt confusion. You'd think I'd be barbequed in a matter of seconds. You'd think I'd be deader than a Spoink after its final hop. But there I stood, cowering in the middle of a freaking thunderstorm, and I didn't feel an inch of pain. Not a blister. Not a even a scratch.

But I couldn't think it through. Too many things had happened in such a short amount of time. All I could do was remain where I stood, cringing in terror, not moving a muscle, and wait for it all to end.

It finally did; though, not as peacefully as I had hoped. There was another final explosion of something and the light subsided. The winds ceased and the lightning died altogether. Even the walls themselves stopped shaking and stood as still as, well, a building. A deathly silence quivered in the air.

I still held my ground, not even rising from my half crouched position. My heart still hammered away. My ears were ringing. Somewhere along the lines, my hat had flown off, but I didn't bother looking around for it. When nothing else happened, I finally summoned what little courage had _not_ dwindled and lowered my arms just enough to peek out. I looked up … and my insides turned cold.

Standing in the middle of the platform, its gigantic head in exactly the same spot where the stone had been, was a dragon.

I am dead serious. It was a huge, towering dragon with wings and all. It had thick, bulky legs set squarely. Clawed feet created a web of cracks in the tile floor. It took up most of my half of the platform, and so this time I really did move back several steps. Its arms held poised and bent. Its clawed hands looked like they could crush even a Lairon in nothing flat. The dragon was blacker than coal and the night sky combined. The only other color on it was an inch-long electric blue tip on its horn which protruded from the back of its head.

None of that scared me as much as the two things that caught my eye the most.

The first was its tail. Instead of being long and swooping; it was short, thicker than the actual body, and coned to a point like a spike. The second thing were the dragon's eyes.

They snapped open. There was nothing slow about it. There was no groggy blinking like a Purrloin kitten waking from a catnap. They opened quickly, almost mechanically. Now there was another color to break the colossal black form. Each eye glowed a vivid red like laser beams. They narrowed in such a way that it almost looked like it was glaring. Glaring into the soul.

Into _my_ soul.

For one solid minute, the dragon fixed me with an intense stare that could make a Heatmor shrink in fear. I held very still, afraid any miniscule movement would lead me to become locked between the creature's powerful jaws.

Then, without any warning, the dragon threw its head back and released an earsplitting roar. It was both loud and deep, more guttural than thunder itself. I clamped my hands over my ears, but that didn't help. At the same time, the dragon released all its energy. Its tail suddenly glowed a bright blue and spun just like the stone had. Lightning exploded out in a halo of light. Two particularly large bolts blasted straight up until they blasted two ragged holes in the roof. More crumbling erupted and several chunks of construction fell on either side of me, splashing into the pool below. I shut my eyes, deafened by the insanity of it all,

But all the chaos wasn't nearly, _nearly_ as terrible compared to the dragon's cry.

I have no idea how long I waited through all of that. It could've been several years or one second. All I knew was that there wasn't anything I could do save shielding my face again, if only to stifle wind. All I could do was stand there like a lost child caught alone in a storm.

As suddenly as it had all happened, the dragon presently stopped roaring. Once again, the lightning storm subsided as if by its own will. I still didn't opened my eyes, because I could feel-without even looking-the dragon's laser-like eyes locking on me again.

Somehow the silence felt even more chilling than the actual bedlam. It was as if nothing had happened in the first place.

And then, in the middle of the stillness, a voice spoke. It sounded soft and far away, completely calm as if the source was perfectly okay with the fact that a freaking thunder-and-lightning-inducing _DRAGON_ had just appeared in the middle of the hall.

"You've done it, Kenta Kuniko.* Zekrom, the Dragon of Ideals, has chosen you."

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***I gave him an original name if only to stick with the spirit of the game. :)**


	2. Prologue II: Let's Start Over

**Disclaimer: Don't own Pokemon. If I did, Eelektrik would not be called Eelektrik.  
This is so annoyingly short, but it's only the introduction, really. -_- Next chapter will be longer, I Promise! :D**

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**Prologue II: Let's Start Over**  


_There was nothing I could but freeze where I stood._

_The great black dragon loomed above me, its whole body one massive silhouette, its laser-like eyes blazing straight into mine ..._

No.

No way.

Nowaynowaynowaynoway.

I can't write like this. I can't start here of all places. No one's going to get what the heck I'm talking about if I keep going on like this.

Oh, who am I kidding? It's not like anybody is _going to _read this anyway. I'm certainly not planning on showing this to anyone. Not yet. Not until I'm good and ready. I'm not looking for an audience, let alone entertainment. I'm definitely _not _doing this because I want to.

It's because I have to. This is my decision, so I'm going to see it through, darn it. I chose to tell this story like I had chosen my starter all that time ago.

Geez, that happened so long ago.

And there's still so much I still don't understand.

I hope I can remember it all, even if there are some things I'd rather not.

Going back to … _that moment_ … I obviously survived (Duh. I wouldn't be here if I didn't). That is to say, I'm still breathing. I made it to see tomorrow, at least, and am now safe and sound in my own room again.

Well, safe, but not necessarily sound. I feel different now. Changed, somehow, like I've aged a hundred years faster than I naturally should have. I don't know how else to describe it other than the cliché of a soldier returning home from a war, considering all I've been through in the past few months. Danger and excitement. Sorrow and thrills. Secrets and lies. Oh, good god, way too many secrets. Way more discoveries than a fifteen-year-old should have to deal with. All that, I endured in one freaking summer, which was supposed have been the best summer of my life.

I just wanted to be a Trainer. Was that too much to ask? I just wanted to spend my summer vacation fulfilling my one and only dream. I just wanted what any kid would want: to challenge the Unova League and become Champion. Come on! Who wouldn't want that? No trouble other than the usual grueling hours of travelling and training my Pokémon that usually come with the occupation. No destiny. No disputes. No contradictions. Just me and my team having the time of our lives as we traveled together and grew stronger together.

_Was that too much to ask?_

Apparently, it was.

They always say that your Pokémon journey is supposed to change you, supposed to help you grow up or something. By "they," I mean our parents; at least, those willing enough to let their kids go off on their own. I'd always assumed they were being philosophical, and to show that they care. Now I get what they were trying to tell us. Believe me, I do.

But back then, I hadn't really given any of that much thought. Back then, I was more concerned in having the time of my life exploring places I've only seen on TV or in books, seeing Pokémon I've never seen before except on TV and in books, and catching said Pokémon for my very own. After all, travelling the country in the wilderness with nothing but your Pokémon and a backpack's worth of supplies? How could that _not _be exciting? I'd been looking forward to that kind of adventure since the day I could crawl.

Funny thing about adventure, really. Nothing about it is expected. And I _really_ didn't expect this big of adventure.

And I also intend on recollecting every bit of it. In my words. Exactly as it had all happened.

Like I said before, I'm not telling this story for pleasure. I'm only doing this mostly for myself, so I can look back on … certain things … and try to understand. What am I trying to understand? I'm not quite sure yet. All I know is that this might be the best way for me to heal. Even if it involves memories I'd rather forget. Like my old man always said, spilling things out on paper feels better than keeping them buried in the back of your head.

Dad, you know me too well.

Even though, I'd much prefer to draw this burden away, but I lost my sketchbook a long time ago, so this is the best that I can do for now.

So instead of treating this like a story, I'm going to treat this like a journal-or memoir for lack of better words.

I don't know who you are, reader, or how you came across my journal, but whether you choose to read this or not is up to you. I've always believed in making my own decisions. The fact that you're holding this journal in your hands probably means that I've decided I no longer need it. Either that or I've lost it along with my sketchbook.

So do whatever you want with it. Read it. Don't read it. Throw it away. Put it on a shelf. Burn it. Pour mustard on it. I could care less. I'm still in the present, so all that is probably not going to happen until the far-off future. Wherever I end up then, I clearly won't be around to tell you what to do.

If you do happen to follow your own curiosity and read through this whole dang thing, let me tell you this, at least: every single word I write down is true. That is to say, all the moments I record I fully intend to elaborate exactly as they happened. After all, honesty is a privilege we can't take for granted. Another phrase my dad liked to say. He had a lot of them.

So I'm going to try and be as honest as I can throughout the telling of this.

Unless I say something like, "I am a purple-backed Basculin with orange wings and an Eevee tail." That would be ridiculous.

Ugh. Sorry about that. Lousy attempt at humor when I'm trying to vent/recount my tale; it's what I do when I feel down in the dumps. I told you; I'm better at drawing than I am at writing.

So, without further due, before I either embarrass myself with another bad joke or make this intro sound any more depressing than it already sounds, let me begin my story.

It all started in this very room-my own room-in a house on a hill in a town by the sea at the lowest point of the country where nothing interesting or exciting usually happens.

Until May 8th, 2010: the day when my quest as a Pokémon Trainer began. That was the beginning of the journey that would change my life forever.


End file.
